"Do not conform to the pattern of the world but be transformed by the renewing of your mind." Romans 12:2

This verse, along with the rest of Romans 12:1-18, was the memory work given to the staff of Camp Mini-Yo-We in the summer of 2008.  At one point, I did have it memorized, but with the years and the lack of practice, I don't quite remember the middle bit... and some of the end is foggy.  But this one verse has stuck with me.

Be Transformed.  Do Not Conform.  Be Transformed.

What does it mean to live for Christ?  I'm not sure I really know.  At one point, I had an idea, but lately I've been feeling all kerfuffled and conflabulated (no sense, eh?).  I feel like I don't know HOW to live for Christ and I feel like I don't know WHAT it looks like.  But I REALLY WANT to.  I want to live for Christ and I want to want to live for Christ.

For some, that might be a weird concept.  I want to explain it, and I wish I could explain it well, but I always feel like I butcher my words.  Even now I feel like my fingers are fumbling at the keys as I try to figure out how best to articulate my thoughts in coherent sentences.

...

Currently, at my youth group we're going through the I Am Second series.  If you don't know what that is, I suggest you look it up on youtube because it's a really cool series.  This past week the pastor started talking about the Ten Commandments.  He started by asking who among us had ever lied.  Every hand went up.  Who had ever coveted?  Who had ever disobeyed their parents?  Who had...  And on it went.  For every question, every hand was raised.

I don't often think about my own sin.  I know it's there like an ever looming shadow, but I try to look the other way.  As each question came, I felt myself shrink in size as the darkness seemed to grow.  I was reminded: I am a terrible person.  As much as I try to do the right things, I'm guilty of sin.  I can't live perfectly because I am human and my nature is sin.  And yet, despite my imperfection--despite my monstrous flaw, God chose to love me.  He chose to send his son to take the punishment of my inequity so that one day I can meet him Face to Face.  Talk about awe-inspiring.

For me, that is world changing.  Spin-my-world-off-it's-axis and shoot-me-to-the-moon-changing.  He made the ultimate sacrifice.  He gave his perfection, his life, for my imperfection, my death.  How can that not resonate within me?  How can I ignore that--pretend that it's nothing?

Simply, I can't.

Nor do I think I should.

I want to live my life for Christ because I love and want to love him.  He saved me.  I don't want to because I "think" it's the right thing.  I want to because I know I'm not worthy of his sacrifice, and yet he did it anyway.  I want to because I know Christ has been, is and will always be my rock.  I want to because I know that without him, I'm a pool of goo-losh.  

Without Christ, I am nothing.

Death and Life

Eleven years ago today my dad's mother passed away.

I think a lot of people have misconceptions about grief--especially in the western world.  This past week, we talked about death in my health psychology class and how it's sort of taboo'd in our society.  People seem almost afraid to talk about death and they don't always know how to act when someone is grieving.  Then there are the beliefs that people only need a few days to deal with the grief.  One of the points made in class was that people will get three days leave of work if it was a sibling or a friend who passed but five days if it was a significant other (or something like that).  Grief time is allotted with regard to supposed emotional closeness.

Does that seem as bizarre to you as it does to me?  Who can say how people will react to grief?  Who can say how long it will take people to "move on"?  Grief is a very personal thing and everyone progresses differently.  Just because it has been three or six months since a friend lost their sibling, parent or other associate does not mean that they are "better"--it just means that it has been three or six months.

My grandma passed away eleven years ago and there are days that I still find myself missing her like crazy and sometimes I'm close to tears.  Granted they are not many, but they are still there sometimes.  That doesn't mean I'm weak or broken.  It just means I'm human.

Five years ago today, a little boy named Ezekiel was born.  He's a crazy kid who has way too much energy (ALL the time), admires super heroes, is learning the joys of reading, and puts his heart into everything.

A death day and a birthday of two people that I have known and know, of two people that I loved and love.  I never really thought of it before, but tonight as I was biting into some cake in celebration, I couldn't help but think how cool it is that what at one point was a day of mourning and sadness can also be a day of joy and hope.

image via google

Death is a part of life and I don't think that it should be taboo'd or ignored.  I don't want to be afraid of talking about death.  And I also think that in thinking about death, life shouldn't be ignored either.  Both are companions that walk hand in hand and both are more precious because of the other.

Tomorrow, Remembrance Day, I choose to remember those that have died in sacrifice to win life and peace for us.

Tender love in Apple Sauce

Should I be writing this right now?  Probably not.  I'm in the middle of two papers that are due Monday, but today's been a slow *school* work day and I think another twenty minutes won't completely derail the bus.  Who knows, maybe inspiration will strike as I write this post...

I can't believe that October is almost over.  I look back to the start of the school year and I don't understand where all the days went.  Everything has been nonstop go.  I don't know why I thought that 4th year would be easier--well that's a lie.  I thought it'd be easier because I don't have the extra Con-Ed class and placement this year.  Even with the extra "free" 10 hours, I'm still ever on the go.  But hey, that's in part my choice.  I like to keep busy.

Speaking of busy, I had a bit of an adventure this week with my friend Sally.  You might be able to guess what it was (it's not like the clues are hiding), but I'll say it straight out anyway: we made applesauce.  And oh my purple pumpernickel pizza, is it ever good.  On Wednesday of this past week, Sally and I filled two sinks full of apples and prepared to turn them into delectable, golden brown mush.

Apple trees are in abundance near my house and Sally's parents have a couple trees on their property, too, so we didn't have to pay for them, but that also meant we had to be careful as to what might be lurking in their depths.  First step them was to wash and cut the apples up.  We cut them into 8ths and then threw the good ones into pots on the stove with a bit of water.  The kitchen began to smell like... warm apples (were you expecting me to say something else?) and steam began to rise.  We had three full pots on the stove which meant we'd be getting a lot of sauce.

I'd say the hardest part was waiting, but by the time we had done the dishes from the cutting and stuff, the apples were good to go.  We poured a pot into a bowl sitting between the two of us and then started in on the hard part: the mushing.  I shall call it the mushing because I really don't know how else to name it.  Sally had these two colander-like things with wooden peg-like things (descriptive, I know.  That's why there are pictures. hehe.).  We scooped some of the mess into each and then used the wooden dowel to squish the apple's sauce through the holes while all the seeds and skins remained in the device.  It was pretty handy but it took a while and a lot of effort.  It was worth every drop of sweat.

By the end, we had roughly 32 cups of apple sauce.

 I filled four 1L jars and we sealed them shut in Sally's canning pot.  

Look at how beautiful they are, all full and sealed:

 I honestly don't know how long they'll last me.  I like to ration things, but I also know that I don't necessarily need to ration them.  I opened my first one today and though I didn't eat it warm, it's still just as good with just the right amount of tang--so much better than any store bought applesauce and I can honestly say it's just apples.  Well, before we canned mine shut, we added some lemon juice.  Don't want anything going bad, you know. (I know the look you're probably giving me, Melanie).  The juice is undetectable, or at least I think it is.  I like sour things so maybe I just can't tell.  Either way, it's delicious.

Actually, I think I'll go get some to eat right now.

Until next time,
Rae

The Book that is a Name

At last I can say that I've read Klee Wyck, by Emily Carr.  It only took me five years to pick up the book after receiving my camp name, but I can now say that I have read it.

Image of book cover from Amazon.

Straight up, I'll say it wasn't what I expected.  I received the book from one of my good friends a few years ago.  She knew that my camp name is KleeWyck and when she saw the book in the store, she told me she thought of me and had to get it.  Though I was and am still very grateful of the gift, I approached the book with tentative steps.  I admit I was making generalizations at the start and I wasn't sure I wanted to read a book from the early-mid 1900s.  My past experiences with such literature has not always led me to hold high esteem for the authors of the period.  Of their day, I understand that they were often great, but writing styles have changed with the times and I'm not as engaged as I am with other more current works.  It's a sad truth, but true nonetheless.

My initial (mis)perception of Klee Wyck those few years ago was that it was one story.  I remember flipping through the pages a few weeks after receiving the gift and seeing the random spurts of dialogue and thinking, What if I don't like it?  I know I'm entitled to my opinion and if I don't like it, then I don't like it, but as my camp name is KleeWyck, I felt the need to like my name sake.  Maybe somewhat silly, but I was in part scared to open the pages and find that to be the case.

Carr's book is a series of short stories--well, not event stories really.  They are snapshots of events that occurred in Carr's life.  This was a pleasant surprise as it meant I was free to come and go whenever I so chose.  I could read one from the back then one from the front.  I could also read one now and then pick it up again in a month or two.  The freedom to come and go, especially as school was starting up again, was nice.

As I read through the many stories, I was struck by Carr's honesty.  She didn't sugar coat what people said--especially what the white missionaries said about the Indians.  She wrote with a pure innocence and I really enjoyed her use of descriptive language.  In the forward, Kathryn Bridge said that Carr would use her brief sketches to help with her paintings and I could tell.  Some of the images were vivid with comparisons I wouldn't have thought of and I'm really glad I read the book.  If you have the chance, I recommend reading this book.  It gives a refreshing image of how the white-native relations were at the start of the 20th century and though simply written, is a powerful work.

In other, unrelated book news, for those wondering my friend found my bus pass and returned it to me a couple weeks ago.  I'm still not entirely sure how I lost it in the first place, but it is found and that's all that matters.

Until the next time,
Rae

a Bump in the road

Sometimes things don't go the way we want them, eh?  Sometimes there are bumps along the way and we bumble along, trying to maintain our footing as we patter across the rough roads.  As much as these bumps suck and create difficulties, I'm trying to see my own bumps as learning experiences.  I'm trying to find the positive so that I can move forward and learn.

This past week for me had some bumps.  It wasn't a bad week, really, but there were a few moments and events that make me want to slam my face into a brick, tear my hair out in frustration or simply cry in a corner.  Not extreme banging, tearing or crying, but enough.  The first was a BBQ that I planned for this past Wednesday.  This year, I have the pleasure of being the president of a club on campus and I decided that to get people to come out and learn about us, I would throw a BBQ during Introductory Seminar Week (ISW).  As far as planning went, most went off without a hitch.  I found cheap catering, got volunteers and volunteer barbecues, found tables, borrowed coolers... Things were looking good.

So what was the problem?  ISW is mainly first years and on Wednesday, classes hadn't started yet meaning that there were fewer students on campus.  This meant that we didn't get much traffic flow.  Bottom line, I ordered too much food.  Roughly two times as much as I needed, when the calculations came in, I think.  We were just shy of breaking even, and only thanks to generous donations by some of the professors.

It was my first time doing an event like this, but I felt like such a fool.  There I was, trying to make some money for future club activities and thus start the year off good, and yet I actually lost money.  Talk about banging your head against the wall.  I keep wishing I could go back in time and change my order.  But I can't and I need to look at this as a growing experience.  It's over and I'm not completely ruined.  I learned and will not make the mistake again.  Almost better to under order to ensure we sell out in the future.

The other bump from my week occurred Friday and comes in the appearance of a disappearance.  My new bus pass has gone AWOL.  Valid for the next twelve months, this bus pass is fairly expensive to replace and so I really hope and pray that it turns up.  I'm not entirely sure where I lost it.  I had it Friday morning when I went and came from class, then I decided to bike to my afternoon seminar and when I got home and was preparing to go out, I don't know what happened.  It's just not anywhere that I've looked.  I can still use last year's pass for another two weeks and so I pray that it turns up in that time.  Until then, I'll just have to live with this slight blip in the path.

And, well, thems the brakes.  Live and learn, eh?